


message delivered

by cometic



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Drunk Texting, Guilt, M/M, Overdosing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, don’t mind me posting back to back, intentional undercase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cometic/pseuds/cometic
Summary: wilbur drunkenly confesses to tommy at three am.
Relationships: (one-sided), Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	message delivered

wilbur takes another swig of vodka.

amidst the darkness, his phone screen is the only thing illuminated. it’s pulled up to discord. 

he can’t think of the reason. mentally, he sifts through his log of memories, but each comes up blank. is he so drunk his memory isn’t working? 

the time sits above the kitchen oven. it reads 3:29 am, even when midnight was just ten minutes ago. _apparently so_. 

well, at the very least, he knows he streamed. played some geoguessr, which - geoguessr is boring now. wilbur doesn’t remember when that happened. 

maybe---wilbur coughs at the thought, trapping the sound behind his lips, the taste of his vodka resurfacing on his tongue---it’s because tommy wasn’t there. he’s all wilbur can think about these days. the out-of-nowhere youtube star _he_ unearthed. 

like a claim.

jesus, and that’s why he’s drinking, isn’t it. a laugh gets caught in his throat, and his heart burns with it. harboring a hopeless love for tommy is a new fucking low, even for him. but he _yearns_ for him, loves tommy with his whole body, like a plague sitting inside him and crumbling his heart.

what a stupid kid. it’s unfair that wilbur will never get to lie alongside tommy, who’s radiant and funny and more than wilbur ever expected of him. he’ll never hold his hand for the first time, shy, and feel how much smaller it is in his. no, tommy will fall in love, and marry, and wilbur will watch. 

his grip on the bottle burns. he refuses. wilbur isn’t going to stand by while tom fucking kills him, oblivious. while he goes and _loves_ someone that isn’t him. 

taking another sip, wilbur looks at his dimming phone screen. before his phone closes, he presses a finger to it. he can’t even fool himself into thinking he didn’t mean to press on tommy’s dms. 

it sits there, beckoning, and to think wilbur thought his drunk impulses were bad with his ex. he sighs, hand rubbing over his forehead and nervously treading through his hair, this-- this is as bad as it gets.

wilbur teeters back and forth, pressing his lips together. compulsively, he sends ‘ _tommy_ ’. right after, he slams his hand on the kitchen island. 

in his head, he reasons that it’s fixable. no reason to let his tired tears slip past his eyes. yet it’s what happens when he sends his next message. 

_i’ve missed you lately._

and the dam breaks. 

_part of that’s probably my fault, what with me herting wasted on late nights_

_*getting_

_it is true though, i do miss you_

he gnaws on his fingers absentmindedly. some of his vodka spills on the counter. _do you know that, tommy?_

_i miss you so fuckcihn much_

_the way your stupid laughs sounds_

_how you interrupt yourself for no reason_

_or when we call for hours on end_

there. he should stop there before he reveals too much.

wilbur can’t keep drowning in his thoughts, though. he contemplates the idea of asking phil for advice before he pushes it down. that’s even worse than confessing to tommy; he’ll end up in prison.

prison.

the word resounds in wilbur’s flat, plunging him into a dark current. 

he’s fucking sick. 

sick for thinking about his _pining_ over the fact that he’s pining for someone he just _loves_ to call a _child_. it’s even worse than it sounds, tommy trusts him, tommy’s _parents_ put trust in him, just for him to end up a child predator, worse than all of the ones in online documentaries because no one suspects him. his hand rushes to his mouth and he swallows down bile, nausea worse than any hangover he’s ever had. 

tommy deserves better. even more---and wilbur’s eyes turn glassy, pupils shrinking, slowly shifting to look at his phone---tommy deserves to know the truth about him, and assess accordingly. right? the room doesn’t answer, even as his breaths cut shorter and shorter. right? 

_i just can’t help myself around you_

_do you feel the same?_

_am i a mornon for hoping?_

_the things i’d do to youi f you did_

_i’d invite you over one nihgt_

_and i’d hold and kiss and fuck you_

_it’s cliche but bht i’d ruin you for everyone else_

_you’re mine_

_i’d rather die than anyone else have you_

everything starts fading around him. a pool of darkness ensnares his vision and starts closing in, until it’s just him and his phone. _god i want to fuck your mouth so bad_. until it’s all wilbur. 

_wanna make you swallow all my cum, force it down_

(the darkness, it’s him, he’s repulsive, he ruins everything he touches.)

_or fucking_

_jerk off over yuor face, with your mouth open waitnig_

_and lick up my cock_

(he’s gonna ruin tommy - hurt him immeasurably and he’ll never forgive himself - loving a sixteen year old, his little brother -)

_i love you so so much tommy_

_tommy_

_is there anything you want to do t ome?_

(-and tommy will have to _read_ this in the morning - live in disgust and fear of what wilbur has always thought of him -)

_id let you dfo anything, let you inside me_

_long as youre not whoring yourself off on other men_

_fuck toms i’m gona throw up_

-unless he kills himself. 

his knuckles are red from where they hold the bottle. wilbur isn’t drinking yet, though. 

as he begins walking, a cold fear suddenly hits him, familiar panic seizing his mind. all he can think about is tommy, who’ll probably - probably be _traumatized_ by what wilbur said. his hands shake. his life will be over by morning. 

and worst of all, their friendship will crumble because of his touch, and so will wilbur’s heart alongside it. 

he blinks. he’s in his bathroom. white and cold and small. his anxiety medication sits in front of him. 

lost in thought again, huh? or maybe lost in time, impulse, or love, it’s all the fucking same, everything is the _goddamn_ same. 

wilbur unscrews the cap. he swallows it down with his vodka. feeling freed, his legs find no reason to hold himself up anymore. 

his phone falls out of his pocket ( _why does he have it? to do more damage? when everything meeting his gaze withers?_ ) and he picks it up. it hasn’t closed yet. he laughs. 

a tear falls on his tongue. he wasn’t aware he was still crying. just like how his fingers move without him knowing.

 _for what it’s worth, i’m sorry._

with a flick, the phone skids across the floor, hitting the wall. wilbur stares at the door blankly. 

he breaks the bottle over his head. 

there. everyone - everyone is safe from him. he’s killed a monster. 

and he’ll never have to feel a thing again.

**Author's Note:**

> hi lazy pmcyts, an annoying fic has popped up in the tag recently so here's a code for shortening fics with a *shit* ton of tags. all you need to do is go to your profile, create a site skin, the copy/paste this into the CSS field <3
> 
> li.blurb .tags {  
>  max-height: 25.5em;  
>  overflow-y: auto;  
> }


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